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“Fuck.”
It’s a burning invasion that pushes me right to the edge, but then Dante pulls his mouth away from my clit and growls at me, “Paint. Do it. Show me. In color.”
His words don’t make any sense and all I care about right now is how fucking good he’s making me feel, but somehow, I understand him anyway. He wants to see it. He wants to see all the hot, urgent, spiraling need inside me thrown onto the canvas.
And he’s not going to let me come until I do it.
“You motherfucker,” I gasp, scrabbling for the fallen paint brush and blindly stabbing it at the palette.
Blue. The paint that coats the soft bristles looks slick and wet and decadent.
I slather it on the canvas, leaving a thick purple smear behind as the new paint mixes with the red that was already there.
“Fucking beautiful,” Dante mutters, humming against my clit in satisfaction. Then he sucks on it hard, two fingers still buried in my ass and stretching it to the point of pain, and an orgasm rips through me that’s just as hot and sloppy as his mouth.
“Oh fuck, yes,Dante.”
He smiles against my pussy, I feel it, but he doesn’t let up.
Of course he doesn’t.
“Again,” he demands, fingering my ass in a hard, fast rhythm that makes me crave his cock. Then he plunges his tongue inside me, fucking me with it in the same rhythm, and I’m right there. Ready to give him exactly what he wants.Needingto.
Then the fucker stops.
“Paint, princess.”
I stare down at him, his face slick with my arousal and his green eyes almost seeming lit from within, thin, vibrant rings of color around pupils blown wide with lust as he stares back up at me.
“What?” I pant, rocking over his face as my inner muscles clench and yearn, my body already greedy for more. “Dante.”
His lips spread in a hot grin, his voice muffled and thick, and he plants slow kisses along my slick thighs, never taking his eyes off me. “I know exactly what you need. I’m also pretty sure I told you to paint.”
It takes a minute for the meaning of his words to trickle through the cloud of need I’m floating on, but when it does, I shakily scoop up a dollop of bright green paint with the brush—paint that’s the same color as Dante’s eyes—and splatter it onto the canvas.
Dante instantly rewards me, and the wave of fierce pleasure that rocks through me as I come again almost whites out my vision.
“Fuck. Oh fuck, please,” I babble, my thighs shaking as the aftershocks shudder through me.
“More,” Dante mutters. “Fill it.”
I want him to fillme, but I know he means the canvas… and it doesn’t matter that I’ve just come twice in a row. His tongue is addictive and the filthy onslaught of my senses as his thick fingers fuck my ass turn me into a greedy bitch who wants him to push me harder. Give it to me again. Make me scream for him.
I moan his name and slash the brush across the painting in front of me without any rhyme, rhythm, or reason other than to make sure he doesn’t stop. Every color on the palette is a bright jewel, and they crowd together in random bursts and messy swaths that burst with the same vivid pleasure he pulls out of my body.
The canvas starts to look like I sound.
Shameless.
Desperate.
Carnal.
It’s fucking beautiful, just like Dante said.
He hums against my swollen clit, lapping at it until I’m begging again, until I’m babbling and right on the cusp of another bone-melting orgasm. He’s pulled back each time I’ve forgotten to paint for him, edging me to the brink of insanity, but this time he doesn’t stop. He tips me right over that peak, and I scream his name.
“Dante!”
